“Friday for what?”
“My next visit.”
“So soon?”
“I don’t call that soon. Friday it shall be, squire.”
The lamp trembled in the hand of Learmont as he thought—“Oh, that for my own safety’s sake I dared plunge a dagger to the hilt in his heart!”
Britton, however, seemed fully to feel his entire safety, and he evidently felt an exquisite enjoyment in the agony he was inflicting upon Learmont. He lounged slowly to the door, and nodding then in an insolent, and familiar manner, he crossed the hall to the outer door, while Learmont, nearly bursting with rage, sprung up the marble staircase to the upper apartment of the house.
“This is brave work,” muttered Britton when he had passed out into the street. “Humph! For ten long years did Master Learmont get the better of me in cunning, and I could not drag him down without placing a halter round my own neck; but now, thanks to the cunning of Master Jacob Gray, I have the means of toppling the squire from his height of power and grandeur without myself the least harm in the world. Ho! Ho! ’Tis brave indeed. And now for this Gray. I don’t see why I should not have charge of that young scion of an ancient stock, who is so great an eye-sore to Learmont. We shall see—we shall see, Master Gray, whether you or I will succeed best in a contest of cunning in the long run, and now for wine and jollity.”
The smith had now arrived at the door of “The Old Chequers,” where, as the place most congenial to his disposition, he had taken up his abode, and where showing that he had plenty of money, he was welcomed accordingly.
“Hilloa!” he roared. “Landlord, some of your best. Quick—quick, I say; I am thirsty, man.”
The landlord needed no second bidding, but placed a tankard of foaming ale before the smith; who immediately took a deep draught of its contents.
“Hurrah!” he cried; “I am Andrew Britton, the smith, and I don’t care who knows it.”
“Certainly not, most worshipful sir,” said the landlord.
“Ah,” cried Britton, “worshipful sir. That’s a very good name, and I’ll be called that for the future. Here’s a quart of the best to whoever calls me worshipful sir, and whoever don’t I’ll wring his neck.”
“Hurrah! For the jolly smith“ cried a chorus of topers who were around. “We’ll drink your health, worshipful sir.”
“So you shall,” cried Britton. “Here’s gold, and there’s more, too, where that comes from. Landlord, do you hear? Quarts all round. The best—the humming ale, recollect, that makes a man sing.”
CHAPTER XIII.
A Walk in the Park.—A Recognition.—The Question.—A Defiance.—Jacob Gray’s First Visit.—The Dream.
The Squire Learmont’s first night in his splendid mansion was by no means an agreeable one. He retired to rest vexed and enraged at Andrew Britton, and his mind in a chaos of conflicting thoughts how to rid himself of the insufferable torment of the threatened visits from that man whose very name would have been sufficient, at any time, to bring a chill to Learmont’s heart, and dash the brimming cup of joy from his lips.
His restless slumbers, too, were haunted by the visionary creations of his excited fancy. One moment he would be plunging a poniard into Britton’s heart, while he dragged from his breast the papers so important to his peace. Then again, at the moment of his fancied triumph, the scene would change to a court of justice, and a voice arraigned him for murder! In such fearful and disordered fancies was his night passed, and he rose in the morning pale, haggard, and un-refreshed. Hastily attiring himself, he drew aside the curtains of his chamber-window, which commanded an extensive and pleasing view into St. James’s Park. It was yet very early, but Learmont thought that he should be able to withdraw his mind from disagreeable and horrible reflections by healthful walk in the shady Mall.
He accordingly took his hat and sword, and walked from his house by a garden-gate, opening into a narrow lane of trees, which terminated in the park itself. The air was very cold, for frost was on the ground, and the trees were stripped of their beautiful verdure; but it was exercise that Learmont wanted, and he rather rejoiced than otherwise at the necessity of active walking, inasmuch as he hoped exertion of body would control the excitement of his mind.
The canal was then, and for many years afterwards, a mere straight cutting, strongly resembling a wet dock, for the repair of ships, and as little ornamental as it could possibly be. The walks, however, in St. James’s Park, were then preferable to what they are now, for many old trees were then existence that have now perished, and their places are, of necessity, occupied by saplings, which the present generation have been kind enough to plant for their successors.
Learmont walked very quickly over the frozen ground, which crackled like glass under the feet. There were but few persons at that early hour abroad, although the day gave promise of being one of those clear, cold, frosty ones which are admired by a great many persons.
Approaching, however, from the direction towards which he was proceeding, Learmont observed a gentlemanly-looking man enveloped in a large cloak. By some sort of instinct, Learmont seemed to feel a dread of this stranger’s approach, although he could not at all recognise in him, at the distance they were apart, the gait or aspect of any one that he knew. Nearer and nearer they approached each other; and, so strong was the feeling of dread in the breast of Learmont, that, had it not been for his stronger curiosity to ascertain who it was, he would have turned from the open pathway among the trees, whose huge trunks would have effectually hidden him from observation. As it was, however, he pursued his walk until he and the stranger with the cloak came nearly face to face. Then, as the stranger lifted up his eyes, which had been fixed on the ground in a meditative manner, Learmont knew him.
It was the young man, by name Frank Hartleton, who had been so curious and suspicious at the period of the great storm at Learmont, when the wing of the building, in which was the smithy, had been burnt down.
The recognition was evidently mutual; indeed, no one who had once seen Learmont could easily again forget him; and, although a great personal change had taken place in the appearance of Hartleton, yet the features of all who had taken any part in the proceedings of that eventful night at the little village of Learmont were too indelibly impressed upon the memory of the squire for him to find any difficulty in recognising in the staid, and somewhat grave, gentleman person before him, the Frank Hartleton who had always held him at open defiance and laughed at his power.
Hartleton stopped short when he saw Learmont; and his first exclamation was—
“This is strange, indeed!”
“Sir,” said Learmont, “did you address me?”
“Scarcely,” replied Hartleton; “but your name is Learmont?”
“Well, sir?” replied the other with considerable hauteur.
“Do you know me, Squire Learmont?”
“I recognised the features, and know the names of many, sir,” said Learmont, “that still are not upon my roll of friends or acquaintances.”
“You do know me,” said Hartleton, “I have no desire to be rude to you, Squire Learmont; but our sudden meeting took me somewhat by surprise, and the exclamation that I uttered arose from the curious coincidence that I have been all night dreaming of you and the village of Learmont, and was in deep thought about the mysterious occurrences that took place three years ago when I suddenly came upon you.”
If his hatred and dread of Hartleton would have induced Learmont to